


Behind Walls

by Whisper



Category: Troy - Fandom
Genre: Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-13
Updated: 2011-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-22 15:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whisper/pseuds/Whisper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Tragic things befell those who meddled in the affairs of females." It was the code young Prince Hector lived by before he met Andromache in the Halls of Thebes. His prophecy would prove true before either tasted love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Women

**Author's Note:**

> I write purely for pleasure and take no profit in my work.

_Politicians._

Hector hated the word.

Hector was a man of plain talk and great purpose. He found politicians to be the exact inverse.

Hector knew them to be talkative, naïve, and honestly quite boring. He understood the importance of letting diplomats play the part of diplomats, but beyond the declarations of peace and war, Hector found little need for _politicians._

And here he was, sitting at a table full of them. For hours, he had stared at his plate of lamb and cheese, letting the mindless chatter roll over him like waves of nausea.

He could take little more of this.

But Hector could not leave. Having been placed at the right hand of his father, he was bound to stay. There would be no feigning illness or attending to urgent business for him.

And so he let his eyes wander. The hall where they now supped was adorned with all sorts of antiquities meant to capture the eye and impress the heart, for it was a hall of a King. Thebes, Hector was finding, was not so different from Troy in the wealth and luxury it displayed.

But it was not gold or embroidery that so captured Hector's eye this time. A flash of bright blue, obscured by a mass of deep brown curls, turned about a pillar.

No woman had been admitted to the hall during supper before, and Hector found himself at once curious. A moment passed as he stared on, and then the woman rounded the pillar once more, now clutching at its side as she looked towards the table.

"She is a pretty thing,"

Hector startled as his father's light voice sounded at his side.

"You should ask her to dance this night, Hector. After supper, I would like to see her in your arms,"

Bewildered, the young prince gave a shake of his head. Women were a foreign thing to him, and he dared not ask one to dance. Tragic things befell those who meddled in the affairs of females.

Priam opened his mouth once more to speak, perhaps to chastise his eldest's impotence, but he stopped as a voice sounded out from his left.

"Daughter, what have you?"

Silence fell as all eyes turned first to Eetion and then to the girl. She climbed the dais to the table hesitantly, her face glowing with crimson.

"Tis' mother, milord," she said, her voice weak as her eyes darted from one stranger's gaze to the next. "Her babe has come,"

Eetion stood at once and rounded the table, wordlessly taking his daughter's hand and following her down a near hallway.

"It is a devoted husband that would so easily leave his dinner guests for his wife," Priam chided, and polite laughter sounded from the men. They at once turned back to their babbling.

"Perhaps there won't be any dancing this night, father," Hector said, his fingers crossing beneath the table.

"Oh, I doubt that very much, Hector. Eetion would look for any excuse to lay more wine upon the table and more women in his allies' beds,"

Hector smirked as his father winked, and then turned to look at the pillar behind which the lady had hid. He thought it sad that she had felt the need to hide; if he had been her father, Hector might have displayed her gentle beauty to the all of the world.

He blushed at the thought, surprised in himself for thinking such a thing. His younger brother was the one who chased girls and lusted after beauty; Hector was a man of swords and horses. Yet he could not deny that she was lovely.

The thought of asking her to dance grew both more frightening and more enticing.

The dancing did arrive, and Eetion beckoned forth a feast in honor of his newest son. Though the infant and its mother laid resting in some chamber far from the Trojan guests, they celebrated as if they had known the boy for years.

* * *

Andromache was overwhelmed by it all. She was weary, for she has returned to Thebes only hours before after a long sojourn to her mother's homeland. And she was cold, for winter's cool touch had just sprung out of the north. And she was embarrassed, for the sting of her blush was still sore even hours after interrupting her father's supper.

He had said nothing to her about it, but Andromache knew well that had she come with any other news, her father's words would not have been kind.

From her place in the garden, she could see her father's beaming smile through the windows of the hall below. 'A kind man in public,' she thought, 'and a just ruler. But a cold father nonetheless,'

She shivered once as a breeze tore through the ferns on either side of her. She pulled her cloak around herself and let her hands rest upon her own shoulders. She jumped as fingers enveloped her own.

"Peace, sister. I only harm attractive women,"

Andromache laughed once as she stood and turned into her brother's arms.

"Podes," she sighed, content as his arms encased her.

"Too long you were away in Sikyon. I have missed you, little one,"

Andromache looked up into her brother's kind eyes and smiled back. "How is Eunike?"

Podes smiled and kissed the top of her head. "With child,"

Andromache leapt back in surprise. "Does father know?"

"No, not yet. Besides, he'd have my head on the spit if he knew before the wedding,"

"And how are the wedding arrangements coming along?"

Podes snorted. "Splendidly,"

Andromache grinned at her brother's sarcasm before elbowing him in the ribs.

"Oh, you know how women can be, 'Mache. They dream in the colors of perfection and moan when they realize such dyes do not exist in the real world. You are not such a fool, are you?"

His little sister smiled and looked down the bluff to the sounds of music and laughter. "Not in that regard, no,"

Podes followed her gaze. "You should be dancing, Andromache. You should be fraternizing with men,"

For a moment, she leaned towards the hall, almost moved by his words. But, as if burned, she pulled herself back.

Tentatively, Podes let his palm rest upon her waist. He breathed in deep before continuing his tale.

"You must forget him, sister. He would not have wanted you to despair,"

Andromache whirled about, one hand lying over her heart. "Of whom do you speak?"

"Again, my girl, peace. I mean you no harm," Podes said, sitting on the marble bench upon which he had found Andromache. He studied her for a while, fighting back his frown as he saw then the shadows beneath her eyes and the pallor of her skin.

"I was not blind to your love for him, sister. I can imagine how deep his passing pains you,"

Andromache turned away before the grief in her eyes could betray her. Steeling her own voice, she turned her head to speak to him over her shoulder. "Maybe I should dance this night. If it would spare me from your nonsense, perhaps it would do me some good,"

And within her mind, a voice agreed with her. Her feet passed down over the bluff before she could find the reasoning to turn back.

* * *

Hector cherished the cool air, touched with silken rays of Artemis' glow. Lifting a hand to his forehead, he settled on a velvet settee. His headache, triggered by one goblet of mead too many, passed at once.

"Are you well, milord?"

Hector blinked once and then turned to his right. Unnoticed by him, a rather scantily clad woman had claimed the armchair nearby.

"Yes, fine, thank you," he said, pulling himself upright at once.

"I don't believe you," the strumpet murmured, tilting her head. "Come, sit with me. I'll make it better,"

Hector was not oblivious to gesture she had made to her own lap as she beckoned him forward. Though he was no stranger to concubines and bed-warmers, he had never escaped the chill that came with meeting them.

"No, truly," he said, standing now with a look of mock purpose of his face. "Don't trouble yourself. I was just going to go back ins…,"

The woman unfolded herself and exited the chair. Before Hector found the sense to round her and return to the festivities, she had already gathered him in her arms.

"Shhh, little prince. I can see the weariness on your brow,"

Hector noticed the way that she, like a snake, managed to hold her kohl-rimmed eyes wide open. He couldn't help but notice also the subtle way that her hands has slipped lower around his waist.

"Let me make it better," she cooed, pressing herself just that much closer to him.

"No, no. Really, no, I cannot…," he mumbled, stepping back. He jumped back towards her as his foot landed upon something soft. A hiss sounded from behind him at once while the harlot before him moaned theatrically.

Hector spun about, one hand upon his dagger. "Who…?"

Eyes wide, the beauty whom he had marveled after not hours before stepped away from him. "I am sorry," she muttered. "I should have paid better attention,"

The girl made as if to walk around him, and Hector noticed the way that she gingerly carried her left foot.

He reached out to her instinctively. "My apologies. I did not mean to step on your…,"

A brusque hand swept his fingers off of her shoulder. "It is no trouble. Please, carry on," she said, her eyes darting to the concubine still standing behind him.

Hector inhaled sharply, his heartbeat sounding loudly in his own ears. He reached out as she stepped towards the entryway, and fumbled in silence for words that would not come to him. When her damaged foot stepped over the threshold, his pulse gave a jarring sputter. Courage surged up within him that was quite unlike that which he summoned on the field of battle.

"Please," he pleaded. "Let me make it up to you. Let me dance with you,"

The woman stopped and looked back at him. Her eyes returned to the concubine –who had by now lost interest and was strutting back through the gardens.

"I would _not_ care to dance with a man with such tastes as your own," she said.

The venom in her voice stung Hector long after her mahogany curls were lost behind the entryway.

With a groan and a heavy heart, Hector fell back onto the settee. His headache had returned.

 _"Women,"_


	2. Women

Priam watched the dancing from afar. Eetion had offered him many fine women and far more food than he could ever have managed, but he was content to simply rest and observe. Indeed, one particularly enticing slave girl had stayed with him to sit at his feet, but Priam had no desire to do much of anything with her; it was not his way to steal the innocence of young maidens or disparage his good reputation with his own wife.

Instead, he watched as his warriors frolicked and celebrated. It brought him joy to see their own bliss, even if it was but a vicarious joy. He figured his days of such carelessness were over; he was a father now, and more importantly a King.

He looked for Hector and his telltale mantle of bright blue, but he could not find him. He knew that his son had little care for these sort of gatherings.

However, he had high hopes for his eldest. At seventeen, the boy was no longer a boy. Soon, his initiation into manhood would begin, and it would be expected that marriage would come soon after. And Hector knew this; he was the brightest son his father could ever have prayed for. But Priam was not blind to his son's anxieties.

Time passed, and the fanfare continued. Priam spotted Eetion's daughter receiving offers from many men nearby a large couch of royal women. But she appeared to deny every suitor. It was then that Priam stood from his podium.

"My lord?" the young girl asked, resting a palm against his leg.

"No my, child. Go. Retire for the evening," he said, pressing his own hand against her head. He was wise enough to recognize that without him nearby, the girl would quickly be swept away by a less kind man.

The way was made for him as he walked; men parted almost instinctively as he strode forward. When he neared the couch, the women straightened and the men stepped back into the crowd of dancers. The young beauty he sought after at once bowed her head. Stepping before her, she reached for her hand.

"You are by far the loveliest of all maidens here tonight," he said to her. "Eetion must have a good deal of faith in these men to let you walk among them so,"

The maiden looked up at Priam for a moment. "Thank you, my lord,"

Priam studied her for a moment; rosy cheeks and strong chin, dark eyes and soft skin. She would make a fine wife, he thought, and she would carry strong children.

"What is your name?" he asked softly, sweeping aside her hair to one side to find a thin scar on her temple. She did not move from the touch, and Priam guessed that this was not the first time a man had coming looking for her hand.

"Andromache," she told him, still looking downward.

"You may meet my eyes, Andromache. I do not cling to such frivolous traditions. Women are joys in my house, not prizes to keep caged,"

He felt her shiver at this, perhaps in excitement. Indeed, few kings kept the same values as himself.

Andromache did look up, and in meeting Priam's eyes she revealed the steeliness there. There were fine lines at the corners of her eyes, and her brow seemed heavy in the way it domed her stare.

"You must be the oldest of your sisters," Priam noted, and the girl nodded. "And the mother of your family,"

Andromache looked down once more. "My mother passed some time ago. My responsibilities are what hers might have been if she had not passed,"

"And what of your sisters? Do they not share in such responsibilities?"

"My sisters are all married," she said quietly, suddenly blanching.

Priam leaned closer, unperturbed. "You would make a finer wife than the lot combined,"

Andromache's lips curled up on the left, and Priam smiled.

"Would you do me the honor of dancing with my son, Andromache?"

The girl nodded, taking Priam's extended hand.

Priam summoned two of his men to find Hector, and danced chastely with Andromache in the wait.

"Tell me of yourself, Andromache. I wish to know more of you,"

When the girl said nothing, clearly self-conscious, Priam squeezed her hand. "How old are you?"

"I am fifteen summers old, my lord,"

"And tell me of what you like to do,"

"I... I dye silk, my lord. And I study in our libraries when I can,"

"Ah, a scholar," Priam said, adding more enthusiasm into his voice than necessary so as to coax her into speech. "What are you studying now?"

"I have been reading many tales of the Amazons, my lord. I find them fascinating,"

"And indeed they are. I have had the pleasure of having several Amazons in court. They are as fierce in politics as they are in the art of war,"

Andromache smiled, and Priam smiled back.

"Are you afraid?" he asked, taking his hand from hers so as to lift up her chin.

"I should not be afraid, my lord," Her voice was wisp-like, and her eyes suddenly grew watery.

"And yet you are," he prompted.

"I...I am often called upon by men or their fathers," she said, "and the thought of leaving home or being made into a wife grows no easier for me to stomach,"

"Indeed, the end of one life and the birth into another is frightful. But it is the Gods' intention for all young women to serve and love a man,"

Andromache did not look convinced. "I have heard of the tales of young wives, my lord. My own sisters have told me of the hardships and heartbreaks they have faced,"

Priam nodded once; he knew of what she spoke. The rape and the violence, all mixed with a new world to live in and expectations to fulfill. Priam was no fool.

It was then that Hector appeared at his father's side, frantically looking between Priam and Andromache. Andromache stopped short at the sight of him, suddenly turning crimson.

"Have you met?" Priam asked, laughing quietly as the two looked each other up and down.

"We have not,"

"We have,"

Priam snorted once before reaching for a hand from both children. Placing Andromache's hand in Hectors, he leaned to kiss Andromache's temple. "Hector, this is Andromache of Thebes. Andromache, my son Hector, crown prince of Troy. Dance," he commanded, and then left the two with a thin smile on his face.

Hector took a deep breath and laid his free hand on Andromache's waist. He felt her tense and pulled his hand away.

"It is not my wish to make you uncomfortable, my lady. But my father...,"

"Your father would be ashamed to know what company you'd rather be keeping,"

"It was no choice of my own by which that woman harassed me!" he hissed, meeting Andromache's eyes squarely. For a moment, she studied him intently, her eyes darting over his face.

"You are not lying," she whispered after a time, and it was no question.

"I am not," Hector answered anyways, and he took her waist once more. "We do not have many harlots in Troy," he told her. "At least, not within the Court,"

Andromache nodded. "So I have heard,"

"Have you heard much of Troy, my lady?"

"I have read a good deal about it. About the temples and the Walls and its heroes,"

Hector laughed once. "Then you've heard perhaps all there is to hear,"

Andromache looked up into Hector's eyes, and suddenly realized that he was quite handsome. "Have you heard much of Thebes?"

Hector smiled. "I have. I've been there, actually,"

Andromache smiled, secretly appreciating that he at least had a sense of humor, and the sight made Hector gulp. Suddenly, he felt quite warm. And when he spun her out in a gentle twirl, he sighed at the sight of her hair catching the glow of the many candles strewn about the floor.

As she twirled back in, Hector threw his hands around her shoulders, holding her away from him. He watched the rhythmic shrug of her shoulders as she caught her breath and the drop of sweat rolling down her neck. The urge to lean down close and to run his lips over the gentle curve of her ear was magnetic.

But before he could either collect or lose himself, Andromache freed herself from his arms and turned to face him. "Hector, my lord?"

The crown prince bit his lip and reached back out to her, cursing himself for his obvious awkwardness. Hesitantly, she drew back into his arms -a little closer than before- and they danced once more.


	3. Bliss

Hector had never felt such joy in his life. Andromache was beautiful, tireless, and bright. And though she did not talk much, what she did say made Hector laugh uproariously. The two danced and dined and joked for hours before at last Hector noticed the way the young princess was sagging against him.

"My lady?" he asked, squeezing Andromache's shoulders tenderly. "Would you like me to escort you to your quarters?"

She nodded twice, smiling gently, and Hector took her arm in his as he pulled her from the floor. She led him swiftly to the gardens, and then up an encompassing hill. She tripped twice in the dark, and with a burst of confidence, Hector swept her up into his arms.

Andromache seemed shocked at first, and parted her lips almost in protest. Hector stopped halfway up the hill and looked down at her in question. But the maiden was quiet, and turned her head into his chest. Hector continued on, and as he did Andromache breathed in. He smelled like sweat and smoke, but also like honey and the sea. She realized then that this was a man whom she would not mind spending more time with. He reminded her, in a vague way, of Argyros, the cousin she had loved and lost.

"Where to now?" Hector asked her, having reached the top of the steep climb. Andromache was impressed that he was not winded, for she often found herself panting from here to her quarters.

"You could let me down," she replied, and Hector did so with an embarrassed smile.

Andromache took his hand in hers and walked beside him towards the living quarters of her family.

"Are you going to stay much longer in Thebes?" she asked him, secretly praying that he would say yes.

"For another week, yes,"

"Would you like... would you like to see me again?"

Hector blushed and beamed, unable to stop himself. Never before had he felt this way around a lady, and it made him feel quite brilliant.

"It would be an honor," he told her formally, clasping his free hand around their attached ones.

Andromache gave him a shy smile before gesturing towards a columned entrance. They entered a stony hallway and she led him to the right, down a dark corridor before stopping beside a set of oak doors.

She turned towards him, and Hector felt a sudden spark run through his legs. A million thoughts, ranging from the amiable to the darkly secret, ran through his every vein.

"Thank you," Andromache breathed, suddenly reaching up to kiss his temple. Hector blinked as she leaned away, and ran a free hand over the spot above his brow before ruffling his untidy hair.

"And thank you," he returned, before leaning in to kiss her hand.

"Would you like to meet tomorrow?" she asked, suddenly blushing herself.

"I must meet with the nobles again tomorrow morn, and I must spar... but, I...,"

"Meet me for breakfast," she told him excited at once, "at dawn, in my father's kitchen. Tell whoever asks that I have wished for you to meet me,"

Hector smiled slowly. "Very well, my lady,"

And suddenly she was reaching up towards him, and in her eyes was an insatiable need for fulfillment, for companionship. She pressed her lips to his tentatively at first, and for a moment Hector was stunned. But when she deepened the kiss, Hector could no longer deny what had been growing within his chest. He pressed his palm to the back of her head, pulling her into him. And greedily he stole from her the most wonderful of kisses. As she accompanied him, wrapping her arms around his neck and curling her fingers through his hair, Hector thanked the Gods above for their graciousness.

"Should I stop?" he asked her when they paused for breath, suddenly haunted by the thought that if they were happened upon, he might be banished, beaten, or worse.

Andromache reached for the door as she whispered "no".

She parted from him long enough to light several candles in the sitting room of her quarters. "Charis?" she called out, presumably searching for her handmaiden. When no response emerged, she turned back to Hector, who had shut the door behind himself.

"Andromache, I cannot be found here,"

The maiden nodded, her eyes bright. "I know that. My father doesn't care for me quite enough to have anyone check up on me, so do not fear,"

Andromache laced her hands in his again, and he leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "And you have no qualms about this?" he asked her.

"I am a woman, Hector. There is a common misconception that we are helpless and without desires. That is not the case at all, especially with me,"

Hector smiled. "How is it that you are not yet spoken for?"

The maiden gave a shake of her head, settling on a nearby settee and bringing Hector down with her. "I do not often offer myself so unguarded, Hector. This is an extraordinarily rare thing,"

Hector studied her for a moment before leaning in. "That suits me well," And he laid his lips over hers again. She responded with a sigh, and gently tugged at his arms until he was laying over her. Never before had Hector been this way with a woman, and he was finding that he enjoyed it quite more than he had ever expected to. Andromache was soft and sweet and brave and a very excellent kisser. The thoughts of her lips on other parts of himself seemed to serve as a lively furnace.

The minutes passed by in sighs and giggles, and eventually Hector found that their tender tryst was bringing forth far more within him than he was prepared to expose Andromache to. She raised an eyebrow at him in question when he pulled away, and Hector ran his hand across his chest in discomfort. "I should leave,"

A look of understanding crossed over Andromache's face, and she too looked uncomfortable. She stood from the couch and offered Hector a hand. As he took it, Andromache bent her lips to his knuckles and kissed them.

"Thank you, again," she murmured, looking less uncomfortable now. Hector nodded as he stood, leaning in to kiss her softly one last time.

"Dawn," he murmured to her, and she nodded to him.

Andromache watched him cross to the door and leave, admiring the grace with which he did so. When at last the door clicked shut, she twirled with a wild squeal and threw herself across an armchair. And for a moment longer, lost in memories of Hector's lips and hair and smell and words, she felt nothing but bliss.


End file.
